


And the One-eyed Undertaker, He Blows a Futile Horn

by SelkieWife



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Guilt, Past Abuse, Shame, Theonsa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 08:06:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11755587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelkieWife/pseuds/SelkieWife
Summary: Short Drabble where Theon and Sansa have a reunion in the Godswood and she tells him that Ramsay is dead as they hug. This is basically just complete wish fulfillment on my part. Told from Reader's POV, as Theon. It's the first time I tried that so I'm not sure what that's called actually. Hope it works!*The title and last quote are from Bob Dylan's "Shelter from the Storm." The one eyed undertaker line reminds me of both Ramsay and Euron.





	And the One-eyed Undertaker, He Blows a Futile Horn

_Aηɗ тнє σηє-єуєɗ υηɗєrтαкєr, нє вƖσωѕ α fυтιƖє нσrη_

* * *

You tread with your unsteady gait along the snow blanketed floor of the Godswood. You are bent and broken, though trying your best to walk tall. Trying your best to embrace a dignity you don’t feel. The Godswood is more beautiful than you remember it, the red bloody hues of of the leaves against the stark white trees, pale as bone, and everything veiled in a sort of cerulean glow like a lighter shade of Sansa’s eyes. 

 _Sansa’s eyes._ She raises her eyes to look at you, and it is like a clear summer sky is rising over your frail and broken spirit. And there is no scorn in her smile, no reproach in her gaze. You drop your eyes at first, a habit you are still trying to break. But then, you slowly raise your eyes to meet hers. Seeing her like this, so happy and strong and surrounded by her family, you can’t help but break into a grateful smile yourself. Smiling feels foreign, almost painful, as though you are reopening a wound. And yet, it is a good pain.

Sansa moves quickly now, rushing toward you like a wave, her cloak billowing behind her as she gathers you into her strong, sure embrace. And for the first time since you attempted to warm her the night you both escaped, you wrap your arms around her and pull her close to you. The rest of the Stark siblings hang back. They respect Sansa so much that they watch her embrace you without a murmur of protest.

As she holds you, she presses her warm lips against your ear and whispers:

**“He’s Dead.”**

You nod your head as your whole body sinks into hers with relief. You know he is dead. You’ve known a long time. Yara told you gently one night, and was the one to witness the turmoil and complicated grief it caused you. But now, in the shelter of Sansa’s arms, you feel _peace_. She is the  only other person who knows exactly what his death means and who also understands how alive he still is in the darkness of the night or the desperation of a sudden memory.   


It is time for her to break away from you, but she doesn’t. You feel her tears wet on your neck and it sends a shiver of affection and _guilt_  down your spine. And you wonder if you will ever be able to feel an emotion that is not laced with shame. But then, she pulls you tighter and whispers, 

“I am so happy you came home.”

* * *

_"Ƈσмє ιη," ѕнє ѕαιɗ, "I'ƖƖ gινє уσυ ѕнєƖтєr frσм тнє ѕтσrм."_  



End file.
